


Left in the Dirt

by hollyblue2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Grieving, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Sam helps, drunk!Dean, sad!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27168383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyblue2/pseuds/hollyblue2
Summary: Dean gets drunk after Cas dies and tries to sneak back into the bunker. His entrance doesn't go unnoticed by Sam who tries to help.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 45





	Left in the Dirt

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this back in May 2019 but it got lost in my gdocs which I sorted out recently... so here have some angst. I'm sorry in advance by the way. I'll be waiting at the end with hot beverages of your choice, blankets and tissues. Feel free to pre-order :3
> 
> beta'd by deansrightfulangerissue :)

The bar has stopped serving him alcohol and has practically thrown Dean out on his ass. He feels sick and dizzy, vision blurring in and out of focus as he leans against a lamp post. 

He looks upwards, the sky dark both for the fact it's 2am and the impending storm. The walk back to the bunker is little more than a stumble and his stomach and head protest the entire way back. 

It would be so much better if Cas was here. 

_ Fuck you, Cas _ , the voice screams inside Dean's head.  _ Fuck you for leaving, for getting killed, for dying and leaving me in the dirt.  _

Dean swings his fists at whatever is closest to him, a brick wall, and destroys the skin of his knuckles. He cries out. Physical pain and emotional pulling at him, making him hurt ten times more. 

He crashes loudly through the bunker door, nearly breaking his neck on the stairs as he stumbles and holds on to the railing for dear life. When he gets to the bottom he looks forlornly around the war room and decides that the library is the best place for him to go, that way he doesn't have to pass Cas’ open door and see that he's not there. 

There's a bench chair to one side and Dean makes for it, but misses epically, and lands on the floor. His back cracks and a whimper escapes him. Dean doesn't bother getting up, it requires more energy than he has left. Instead, he curls up, hand against his stomach as it roils violently against his sudden fall. 

The alcohol in his stomach doesn't stay down and he knows he isn’t going to make it to the trash can. Sparing what little he has left of his dignity, Dean heaves onto the floor, the smell vile against his nostrils. 

Worn out, he just lies there. Cas wouldn't have let this happen. Cas would have stopped him before he drank too much, or would have pressed nimble fingers against his forehead and took away the pain. Hell, if Cas was there he wouldn’t have had a reason to get drunk in the first place.

He’s good at sneaking around Sam, and he’s pretty sure he didn’t wake Sam up, but after he's half drifted off, Dean feels hands on him, moving and lifting him. 

“Cas?” Dean slurs, trying to blink away the drink. 

“No, man, it's me, Sam.” Sam sounds sad and Dean doesn't know why. He's too drunk to press him though and waits for Sam to haul him to his bed. “You're a mess,” he tells him. 

Of course he is, what does he expect.

“It's been six months,” Sam continues, voice breaking through Dean’s half-consciousness and Dean does his best to look at him. “You've gotta stop this. I don't wanna lose you too.”

Sam removes Dean's t-shirt, pulling it gently over his head and passes him a glass of water. Dean takes a sip and there’s a brief sense of relief.

“Lie down, Dean,” Sam instructs and he can feel a woosh of cold air as the covers are lifted. Dean doesn't get the chance to refuse before he's practically shoved onto the mattress. 

Dean turns on his side, with his back to Sam. 

“Oh, Dean…”

“Nothing's bringing him back,” Dean says, words still heavily slurred and he wonders if Sam can even understand him. 

“I know.”

“I didn't fight hard enough,” Dean hiccups and holds a hand to his lips, thankfully he doesn't throw up again.

“We fought as hard as we could.” A hand trails down Dean's bare back. The light fingers are tracing something and Dean remembers the jet black wings, with intricately detailed feathers, he got tattooed into his skin, just over a month ago. A permanent reminder of Castiel. “You loved him, didn't you?” 

Sober, Dean would avoid that question, denied its existence and probably walked out of the room. Dean, when he can barely string together a coherent sentence can't help but nod. 

“More than anything,” he admits easily, pulling a pillow into his arms and holding it tight. 

“He'll come back for you, Dean.” Sam's words are empty, uncertain but Dean clings to them. He needs  _ something _ .

He needs Cas. And Cas needs him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still sorry - it's not exactly looking good for Dean ♥ 
> 
> Thanks for reading though!


End file.
